|
A Bend in the Road, part 2. By R. Palme
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
? ?
? ** W A R N I N G !!! ** W A R N I N G !!! ** ?
? ?
? The story that follows contains descriptions of ?
? an EROTIC & BISEXUAL nature about a young boy and ?
? preteens, teens and adults. It is meant to be ?
? an alternative form of creative expression and an ?
? exploration of certain taboo themes without undue ?
? sensationalization or exploitation. It is also an ?
? experiment to see if more material like this is of ?
? interest to readers. It is not meant to appeal only ?
? to readers fixated on a single fetish subject but ?
? explores theme changes from chapter to chapter. ?
? ?
? IF YOU MAY IN ANY WAY BE OFFENDED BY MATERIAL OF ?
? THIS NATURE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER AND DELETE THIS ?
? FILE IMMEDIATELY. THIS MATERIAL IS COPYRIGHTED ?
? AND MAY ONLY BE DISTRIBUTED IN THIS ELECTRONIC FORM. ?
? ?
? ?
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
A Bend in the Road
by R. Palme
... a story of a young boy's coming of age...
Introduction Revisited
My name is Kyle Spencer and I am a twenty-year-old freshman at university.
I
am studying language arts and my life long dream is to be a writer. A
teacher
in my private prepatory school once told me that the world's greatest
writers
draw best from their own experiences. So, in this first effort, I am
sharing
with you a truthful and open account of my memories of a very different
coming
of age. You might find it strange, familiar or maybe even bizzare in
parts,
but it is a true and lengthy account. "Truth is stranger than fiction."
Now please enjoy ... A Bend in the Road, Part 2
Chapter Four:
A Boy's Life
Life at the school was not really as bad as I had imagined it would be.
I was only ten, probably the shortest kid there. A star pupil prematurely
accelerated into a world of eleven year olds. Having always been self-
motivated and resourceful, I knew how to loosely adhere to "rules and
regulations" without being a "teacher's pet," so I got along ok. The food
was
mostly tolerable and the teachers mostly stupid or blind and not too heavy
on
discipline.
There was a "rich" mix of rich boys from different countries all over
the world at our school. In my class I counted three Japanese, two East
Indian, six from Europe and one black from Ghiana, Timothy Mbutu, who
later
became my friend. The rest from U.S. and Canada. They were sons of
diplomats, bank presidents, doctors, lawyers . . . and one local barber's
son
in the Sixth Grade who was teased endlessly; we called him "Lotto Boy"
because
his father had won the lottery and he really wasn't one of us.
Each morning before showers we had to stand in our underwear, in front
of our rooms during inspection. In our uniforms, we all looked united,
members of a group. In our underwear we were reduced to our individual
selves, naked, shivering and masked only by the minimal cloth we chose to
sleep in. "Pyjamas were for babies," we had all decided the first friday
night at a dorm get-together. It was the suggestion of an older floor
monitor, who I now suspect had wanted more of an eyeful during the morning
inspections.
It was funny to see the regional difference in choice of undergarment.
Timothy wore the thickest, cleanest white cotton underwear I have ever
seen.
They stood out smartly against his little dark-black body and I wondered
if
his parents had thought he was being shipped to Alaska to go to school.
The
french boys, Pierre and Robert wore these loose cotton undies with a wide
panel in front and no fly. Gunter from Germany wore nylon bikinis in all
different colours that looked almost like bathing suits. Stripes seemed
his
favourite and one pair that had holes worn on the sides that let you see a
bit
more smooth pink flesh. Christopher stood out because he was much taller
than
the rest of us and the off-white pouch of his Jockey's was a little bit
fuller, showing early signs of puberty.
This was actually Christopher's second year at Shawnigan, he was twelve
and still in the Fifth Grade. The only reason he was still at Shawnigan
at
all was because of his mother, a fashion model. Where most of the kids'
parents had either money or influence, she must have had a bit of both.
I shared a room with James, a fat kid who was fanatic about collecting
hockey cards. The wall on his side of the room was plastered with sets of
the
Vancouver Canucks, colourful because of their ever-changing uniforms. His
family lived in the New Hampshire and put him in Shawnigan "until he
learns to
behave like a gentleman," which is probably still a long time coming.
Most of the kids were jealous of my home life, though they shouldn't
really have been, except for the beach, of course. This was because I
went
home on the bus and then a plane from the city of Victoria one weekend of
every month. After the first four months at Shawnigan, I settled in
pretty
much and would ask to stay there with my friends some of those weekends.
Anything to stay away from Samuel.
By the start the new year, I was only going home on obligatory holidays
and school breaks.
Chapter Five:
Chris & Me
Some days, I would look at him from my desk by the windows, not really
contemplating the work, just admiring the way Christopher teased the girls
and
gave smart answers to the math teacher and sparkled his eyes. It never
really
occured to me that it might be considered so inappropriate to adore
another
boy so much.
Christopher was a mischeivous tough boy, often forgiven because he was
very beautiful really. He made us all call him "Chris," because
"Christopher"
was what his mother and the teachers called him. His light brown hair was
always tussled and long. He had fair skin but was nicely tanned from the
previous summer. He seemed to like the sun, removing his shirt whenever
he
could. I wondered whether he too was originally from California, or
whether
he just liked to show off his body. He was slim and muscular for an
almost-
twelve year old, not too skinny and a fast runner.
Whereas most of us just giggled a lot when someone said "bum" or "fart"
or "pee," Chris swore using adult words and taught the rest of us to say
"fuck" and "cunt" and "frig" under our breaths. He didn't really fit in
with the old-world money crowd.
One time I came up behind him in art class, to look at his drawings.
While I stood over his desk, I sneaked a close look at his neck, exposed
above
a cotton school shirt. His skin seemed so smooth and soft, covered very
lightly by a boy's velvety fine hairs. I started to put my hand on his
shoulder but got scared and drew it away. The assignment had been to draw
a
vase of flowers. His drawing was of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle with
flowers
coming our of the handles. He drew it perfectly from memory. Chris was a
true rebel and I admired that too.
I didn't think about my own appearance much in those days, but I guess I
was a normal cute nine-and-a-half-year old with dark brown hair parted at
the
side and dark brown eyes, and ears that stuck out too far from my head.
My
skin was smooth, with a few freckles, and I had the faintest hint of hair
growth on my arms.
Of course I had already begun to learn about sex and growing up through
reading books. I even went so far as to inspect my hairless groin daily
for
the first sign of puberty. I was NOT looking forward to it. I had a
large
"attitude", being rather smart for my age, and was a bit of a loner. The
other kids sometimes picked on me, calling me "perfessor" or "teacher's
pet."
Some teachers did take a special interest in me, as I would work quietly
and
usually finish first. This left me lots of time for thinking, scheming
and
dreaming. It also left me enough time to get up to other bits of boyhood
mischief.
That first fall, dreams of Chris as my "special friend" filled my head
constantly and it got so bad that I had filled the pages of my personal
scrap
book with drawings of him and me; as best friends, walking together,
building
a tree fort, wrestling together on the grass . . . sitting on a stone
fence by
the pond fishing. Those eyes of his.
Chapter Six:
First Awakenings
As I said, I knew a little bit about sex, but I hadn't really done much
of anything serious. I had just played innocent games like most children
who
are curious about sex.
There was a time when I was eight. A little girl from a nearby beach
house, Susie, let me see her underwear while we played "house" on an old
mattress stored in her parents' garage. She lifted her pretty dress over
her
head coyly. I still remember the soft cotton-flannel material,
double-thick
at the crotch, with pink roses in a pattern and a discreet lace-like
elastic
around the each leg and the waist. I was allowed to get on my knees and
inspect closer, but had to keep my hands behind my back. The cloth
covering
her young pud was smooth and thick, steeped in a damp body warmness that
helped carry her "sweet pea" aroma. She wouldn't let me touch it. I was
only
allowed to look and she giggled loudly when I tried to smell. We didn't
do it
very long for fear that her mom might be lurking nearby.
For some reason, the details of this experience made quite an impression
on me. Afterwards Susie made me give her my favourite horse figure in
payment. I enjoyed the thrill of doing something illicit, sneaky, and
erotic.
We both knew our parents wouldn't approve. But it was nothing serious,
really, just child's play.
At age eight-and-a-half I had a friend Terry, same age, who would stay
at our house afterschool until his mother, my mother's best friend, came
by on
her way home from work. We were left quite alone to do what we pleased
since
both my parents also worked. I was an only child and our housekeeper,
Erma,
was usually too intent on soap operas and afternoon game shows. From
3:30pm
to 5:00pm, when my father returned home, we pretty much had the run of the
house.
Terry was quite curious about sex and nakedness and such. He kept
wanting to play hide and seek where the object of the person who was "it"
was
to pull down the pants of the other. He was most often "it" and I got
"de-
pantsed" regularily. Amongst our many other nasty games and rituals, the
most
exciting was "Doctor". The patient would be slowly stripped to his
underwear
and examined closely, one layer at a time.
Once, while playing Doctor, we found a box of my mother's sanitary
napkins. Terry convinced me that they were to absorb a girl's pee, and
that
they were like a more grown-up sort of diaper. He wanted to test this
theory
out, so we discretely took two and wore them in our underpants for the
afternoon. We excitedly drank quantities of cold juice trying to reach
the
point where we could no longer hold our bladders. The dry pad felt good
as it
rubbed against my little dick, but I felt oddly peculiar about what we
were
doing to my mother's private things.
There we were, both standing in the bathroom with our pants around our
ankles, holding up our shirts and big bulges of padding in the front of
our
briefs. It was difficult to try peeing with my penis standing up out of
excitement. We tried to relax a bit and concentrate on "letting go" but
before either of us could really pee more than a dribble, I heard my
father
pulling up in the driveway. We quickly flushed the evidence down the
toilet
and tried very hard not to look guilty the rest of that afternoon.
When his mother came, Terry raced out to the car. I supposed he was
very anxious to get home because he had not yet gone to the bathroom. For
days
I was scared my mother would discover the absence of two pads. Either she
didn't notice or thought the housekeeper took them.
The exhilaration and danger of discovery plus the sharing of such
intimate secret activities made Terry and I good friends. In the hopes of
pursuing our favourite activities, we decided to form the Fun Club.
Chapter Seven:
The Fun Club
The activities of the Fun Club were fairly innocent and limited to
showing each other our underwear and collecting pictures of girl's and
women's
lingerie from the Sears catalogue, sharing stories, and the very
occasional
flash of our privates. On one hot August night Terry, my girl cousin
Joline
and another young friend Frank Stiller, were staying overnight. We all
got to
talking dirty and Terry let slip about the club. Of course Joline and
Frank
wanted to join the Fun Club too.
My parents went out for dinner that night, leaving us alone with Erma.
All through our dinner, hamburgers and fries, we just giggled excitedly
and
bugged each other nervously. Erma must have thought we were crazy.
Afterwards she went to her room and concentrated on an episode of 60
Minutes.
We locked ourselves in the rec room, the basement of the beach house, and
turned the tv set up to mask our true intentions.
Terry wanted to come up with an appropriate initiation feat for everyone
to do. Fascinated by girls, he kept suggesting we play "post office" or
"spin
the bottle" with Joline. She protested that it wasn't fair since she was
the
only girl. Surprisingly, her suggestion for a game was, "Why don't we
play
strip poker." Supposedly her older brother and some of his friends had
talked
her into playing once.
Being a girl, Joline was like an unknown animal to me. I was curious
but she could be dangerous. So I hesitated, not sure if we should go
through
with it or not. Frank and Terry pleaded with me to play, but we didn't
have
any cards in the basement.
Frank was nosing around in a closet when he pulled out the game Twister.
He started spreading out that plastic cloth with the coloured circles on
it
and suggested that we invent a variation of the poker game. By this point
my
heart was racing and I was thoroughly caught up in the anticipation of
actually getting to see a live naked girl. I had already begun sneaking
looks
at my father's Playboys, hidden in the back of his underwear drawer, so I
had
a good idea what it was all about, but I really wanted to compare with a
girl
around my age.
We sat down together in a circle on top of the plastic cloth, much like
we were having a picnic in the middle of the room. Each of us selected
our
own personal colour; Red, Blue, Green, and Yellow. With an initial spin
of
the Twister dial, the person whose colour came up had to take off one
piece of
their clothing. We then proceeded like stip poker. Terry was the first
to
lose his shoe. Joline lost both her shoes and a sock. I lost a shoe. It
went like this until Frank was the first to have to pull off his pants.
Joline giggled incessantly and we thought we'd get caught. Once Joline
was
down to her underwear we started kidding around and going in slow motion.
Joline was a bit mad, saying "Go, go, go!"
Terry was the first to have to undress completely. He had lost three
rounds in a row. He stood up in his Superman UnderRoos and slowly inched
them
down, revealing himself directly to Joline. She scowled and giggled.
Beingthe loser we told him to run naked around the basement so we could
all
get a good look. His little hairless pee-pee swung to and fro. It was
cold
in the basement. His little wrinkled balls were tight against his smooth
boy's body. Terry declared that it was unfair that he was exposed first
and
didn't get to look at everyone else, so we decided to keep playing until
the
last person was completely undressed. The next to lose was Joline, then
Frank and then myself until we were all naked in the circle.
Mostly we gawked at Joline and she took her time sizing each of us up
(or down) too. She was ten, the oldest. But unlike the women in my
father's
dirty magazines, Joline had no hair above her "quim" (that was the word we
sometimes used). She was ten years old. I wasn't sure I liked older
girls'
hairy pussies, since they seemed dirty or something. There was something
about Joline that was clean and fresh. I think she boasted that her
breasts
were beginning to grow but they didn't show that much.
Terry and I caught each other staring at Frank who was uncircumsized.
His parents were vegetarians and they probably thought it was more natural
or
something. Anyways, it looked cool, but different from our own. As we
sat
there looking, we all grew warm and uncomfortable, with Joline giggling
again.
We weren't sure what to do next. Someone suggested that we actually
play the game of Twister in the nude. Before we could make a move,
however,
Erma was banging on the basement door saying, "What you chill'uns up to,
anyways?"
...continued in Part Three: BEND03.ZIP
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
? ?
? **** A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR **** ?
? ?
? ?
? I am anxious to communicate with others for whom ?
? this story may have special significance including ?
? other authors of taboo literature. ?
? ?
? Please send comments via uploaded file to ?
? Rusty & Edies BBS 216-726-2620 using the format ?
? BEND-C01 thru BEND-C99. Remember to include your ?
? Door 19 alias so I can send a return response. ?
? ?
? INTERNET users can send private e-mail to: ?
? [email protected] ?
? ?
? Thanks. ?
? ?
??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
|
|
